Duct Tape Fixes (Almost) Everything
by IronSparrow99
Summary: With their wounds from the Battle of San Francisco still fresh and raw, the Avengers are beginning to reassemble - and along the way, they're going to learn what can and cannot be fixed, how delicate the ties that bond them are, and how hard it is to return to being 'okay'. (Sequel to Dissension)
1. Chapter 1

**Hellloooo! I'm baaaack!**

 **Welcome to the fix-it story, a loose sequel to** _ **Dissension**_ **, because I know you're all screaming at me for breaking all of their hearts.**

 **So here goes…**

* * *

 _ **Days since the Battle of San Francisco: 2**_

* * *

 _Pack your bags and wear something nice. I've got a jet on the way, you're going home._

I glance at the text Dad sent me – the time stamp reading six hours ago – before shutting off my phone and stepping out of the limo, waving at Happy as I quickly make my way into the lobby.

My day had begun around 7 this morning, with that text message waking me up and forcing me into clothes that were really more formal than I wanted to wear but had to anyways. Then a five and a half hour flight from the hotel in San Francisco to John F. Kennedy International Airport, where I caught a cap nap but not much else, and then had to brave a bunch of reporters with 'he-said-she-said' and 'is it true that you…' questions.

At least the drive here had been okay: Happy had been mostly quiet, except for humming a Sinatra tune, and had thankfully not turned on the news radio.

And now I was here, in a place that had once been home (for five years) but now was technically still an enemy base – sure, we were on an uneasy truce, ceasefire, whatever with those enemies, but still.

I quickly make my way into the elevator, going to swipe my access card but stopping short as I realized that all I had were the compound access cards, which were no use here. My Avengers card had been confiscated when I left, as was protocol.

"Jarvis," I glance up at the speaker in the ceiling, "Override Code Free Bird 2.0."

" _Of course, ma'am,"_ the AI confirms smoothly as the elevator lights up like it would normally. _"Where would you like to go?"_

"Wherever Dad is," I request, and the elevator moves upwards.

A short elevator ride later, I step out onto the private lab floor, tracing the familiar path to main lab and punching in my passcode – which, thankfully, still worked.

I grin at the scene I walk in to: Dad is leaning back in his chair, feet kicked up on his worktable, completely focused on the see-through monitor in front of him.

There were also grease stains on the floor after only one day, but such was the life of an engineer.

"You summoned me?" I ask as I make my way over to my side of the workshop.

"I did," he agrees, sitting up and turning the monitors so I could see. "I'm working on seeing what they did to the Tower while we were gone. I've already reset the override codes and unlocked everything that was locked. Can you focus on the Tower itself while I go over personnel records?"

I give a sharp salute. "Aye, aye boss!"

He rolls his eyes at me as I turn to the nearest holotable, pulling up a diagram of the Tower as it was on December 12th, the day of the Last Straw Battle.

I give the diagram a long look, bracing my hands on either side of it. "Okay, Jarvis, highlight any damage to the Tower before this."

Two spots are highlighted in yellow: a broken sink on the 34th floor and a broken window on 60th floor, the Avenger's communal floor, because the boys had thought that it was a good idea to try and lift Thor's hammer.

(Natasha and I stood back and filmed it, then uploaded it for all the world to see.)

I dismiss those two areas, instructing Jarvis again. "Okay, I need all damages to the Tower between December 13th and today in red, please."

Red dots pop up over large areas of the Tower, and I grimace as I pull up a seat and call up the system reports.

Starting out, they were mainly small damages: broken vases, a fist sized-hole in a wall, another broken window from an outside force (Falcon, he'd be paying for that) and a knife slash.

Going down the timeline, however, the destruction steadily got worse: a fire almost started on December 16th, a small explosion on the 20th and again three days later.

Then everything goes quiet for about a week – probably when they were stationed out on the disused Hellicarrier, around the time of the Battle of the Compound and my kidnapping.

I quickly shake off the memories that threaten to surface, making my way further down the list.

 _January 3_ _rd_ _: Destruction of a non-load bearing wall. Floor 67._

I pause and do a double take. _67? My floor?_ And a quick glance down the list reveals several more reports with the same location marker.

Unease settling in my stomach, I push my chair back and walk out of the lab without a word to my dad, feeling his eyes on my back as I storm out.

I make my way to the elevator, angrily punching the button for my floor – or what was once my floor, I didn't know anymore.

I storm out of the elevator with the same lack of finesse I entered it with, stopping as I came face-to-face with a pitch black floor, only lit up with the soft blue glow of the reactor. "Jarvis, lights," I command.

Nothing happens. I frown. Was Jarvis set up in here? I mean, he obviously was in the elevator system, but what if Dad hadn't gotten around to the residential floors yet?

I grab my phone and cue up Jarvis' interface. "J, you up, buddy?"

" _For you, ma'am? Always,"_ the AI responds dutifully, his voice echoing slightly as it came out of the phone's speakers (but only slightly, because this was a phone of _my_ design). _"How can I be of assistance?"_

"You could turn on the lights on my floor," I answer. "Are you installed on the residential floors yet?"

" _I am, Miss Stark,"_ he agrees. _"But I am not finding any light fixtures on your floor."_

I blink at the phone. "Well…that's interesting. Okay, thank you, Jarvis."

The AI goes silent, and I quickly turn on my phone's flashlight, illuminating the space around me.

And reveal something that the damage reports didn't cover.

The carpet – previously beige and plush – had been stripped bare, leaving the cement underneath covered with a gummy adhesive. The floor was bare and dark, and I could see wires hanging from the ceiling where the light fixtures had once been.

Stopping in the middle of what used to be my living room, I turn in a slow circle before spitting out some vulgar Russian and quickly pressing speed dial one. "Dad!"

" _What!"_

"My floor's been completely demolished. I don't even have lights. And it's empty."

" _Empty? Like-"_

"As empty as Scrooge's heart," I nod mournfully.

I hear him sigh on the other end of line. _"Okay, I've got a bunch of meetings with Cap coming up, I'll bring it up then. Why don't you come back to the lab, I found something…odd."_

I nod, recognizing his attempt to pull me away from my decimated former living quarters. "I'll be there in five." I hang up and trudge my way out of room, blinking a few times as I re-enter the normal fluorescent lighting level.

When I return to the lab, Dad is looking over a print out of a list of what looked like names and dates until he looks up, the beep of the door alerting him to my entrance. "Oh, hey. Come look at this."

I come around the desk and lean over his shoulder, looking at the paper in his hands – an employee sheet. "What is it?"

"Look at this," he traces a finger down a few names, all of their hiring dates ranging from late December to the first week in January. "There's an influx in employee numbers here."

I frown and turn to perch a hip on the desk, taking the paper from him. "They hired 250 people in a span of 6 days…that's an average of 41 people per day." I look over at him. "Why so many people, do we know?"

"Most of these are civilians," Dad observes. "Accountants and the like. What do you want to bet they were roped into the Widow's web?"

"No bet," I shake my head with a grin and a shudder. "I really hope she used legal means to rope them in. But why civilians? Last I checked, I'm pretty sure we already had a top-notch financial and legal team."

He considers this for a moment, and then stares at me, an unreadable look coming over his features. "They were securing their own safety."

Realization dawns on me. "Because they knew we wouldn't condone firing upon civilians."

I let out a few choice words degrading Cap's mother's heritage, and for once, Dad doesn't say anything besides "They hired _Hill_!"

"What?" I look over at him, confused.

"They hired Hill," he repeats. "Formerly Deputy Director Hill. Ring a bell?"

"Oh, it rings _several_ bells," I groan – Maria Hill hated us all. Or at least the two of us. Why did they hire her? And who hired her? Oh, I would have _words_ with them later-

"Taylor."

I look over to see my dad watching me with an amused smile. I rub the back of my neck sheepishly. "Sorry. What'd I miss?"

"Nothing much," he waves me off. "I'll deal with Hill later. Do-"

"You make it sound like you're gonna kidnap her or something," I tease. "Didn't know you were into that."

"Oh, shut it, you." He reaches over to cuff the back of my head. "You're disturbed and I blame Barnes."

"I knew you for nearly twenty years before I met him," I toss back.

He just rolls his eyes dramatically. "Can you check out where everyone is?"

I nod and pull up a holographic globe, expanding it slightly and keying in the code that would track everyone's cell phone GPS. Eleven dots instantly show up.

Clint's dot was still in California Pacific Medical Center, where I had reluctantly left him this morning in order to catch my flight. He was being flown out tonight, around 8 pm.

Darcy, Jane, and Thor's dots were all clustered together somewhere near Champaign, Illinois, their flight making decent progress home from Santa Fe. I didn't want to talk to Jane, I didn't want to tell her what she had done.

Moving on.

Betty's dot was steadily moving north from Managua, Nicaragua, where she had spent the last month, wanting to be in the war but unable to. (She was lucky. It was better to stay out of it.)

Natasha's dot was stationary in the city – she was at a sauerkraut joint, and _ick,_ but to each her own, I guess.

Bruce and Bucky's dots were both in the Tower somewhere, and I'd bet my phone that the soldier was in the gym, pounding on something, while the scientist had holed himself up in his lab. I make a note to visit them later.

Rhodey's dot was about half an hour away from the Tower, in his small apartment, and I knew he was just trying to cement himself back in normality before he got pulled back into our mess-up existence like a spring-loaded yo-yo. Don't say I never felt bad for the guy.

Cap and Falcon's dot were together, but I didn't care all that much as to where they were. I didn't trust Sam Wilson, and I had a major bone to pick with Captain Rogers.

I lean back in my chair, linking my hands behind my head.

We were all coming back together.

And who knows, maybe we'd be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to RussianAssassin, candycrum, and Csilla (Guest) for reviewing chapter 1.**

 **Keep reviewing people! I enjoy almost all feedback! Especially cookies and puns and innuendos.**

* * *

 _ **Days since the Battle of San Francisco: 4**_

* * *

Meetings _suck_.

I, as Vice President of a top-ranking Fortune 500 company, can report this on good conscience because I've been to a _lot_ of meetings.

And they all _suck_. Badly. They're all boring people droning on about boring things that don't really have to be resolved by talking, but rather _doing_.

Like the one I was currently in – or, more precisely, above.

I was in a self-made hammock in the corner while below me Cap, Dad, and Natasha all discussed where to go from here. Wherever _here_ was.

The only reason I even had to be here was because I was the (former?) deputy of the Iron Legion and this was an officers-only club meeting. In truth, I _really_ wanted to be back down in the familiarity of the lab going over plans for either the Tower or a possible Beta V because it had been nearly seven years and I only had four suits and I needed-

"Taylor?"

I look down to see Dad, Cap, and Natasha staring up at me quizzically. "Anything to add?"

"I have a few things," I shrug nonchalantly and swing my legs over the side of the hammock and zip lining down, retracting the net with a flick of my wrist. "First off, I do not want a position in power," I begin, being sure to articulate my point very clear. "I've had one for the past month, and while I'll pick up that mantel in times of emergency, I'm really fine with being sixth in line." I shrug and drop into a chair, idly spinning around.

"And I think it's an awesome idea to implement a two weeks' notice policy. Which, seeing as you're all employed under Stark Industries, I could approve without your input-" Dad taps me on the shoulder, and I sigh. "But I _won't._ All I'm saying is that if a member of the Avengers quits the team, they aren't officially _not_ an Avenger until exactly two weeks after that. It'll give people a chance to cool off before they do something...stupid." I glance over at my dad.

He ignores me, instead addressing the group as a whole. "All in favor?"

Four hands are raised, and Dad nods before turning back to me. "Approved. Will you-"

"I'll get HR on it now," I nod, taking out my phone and quickly typing a few emails.

"I have another thing to bring up," Dad announces. "The destruction of the Tower."

I snap my head up, suddenly interested, to find that neither Cap nor Natasha are meeting my eyes.

"I hope you know that those funds are not coming out of SI, the Avengers' funds should cover it instead," Dad continues. "Really, though, you guys are _really_ destructive guests."

"Parasites," I correct coolly, ignoring the look on the other two faces. " _Guests_ are not invasive."

"You left," Cap defends. "And it was _Avengers_ Tower."

"Under the direct ownership of Stark Industries," I remind him. "Would you like me to pull up the lease contracts?"

"I don't think-"

"Both of you!" Natasha snaps. "You're acting like children! Sit down!"

I huff and drop into my chair, rolling back a few inches and all the while never taking my eyes off Steve.

"Now," she continues after a long look at both of us. "You were saying, Tony?"

"Floor 67," he prompts. "What did you do to floor 67?"

It fell silent _quickly_. I had half a mind to play the cricket sound effects I definitely _did not_ have on my phone.

"We remodeled it." _No duh._ "We needed a place to run battle simulations."

Forehead, meet table. "Oh my god – you _do_ realize that there's an entire room for that on, like, floor 40, right?" I groan. "I mean, Clint's seen me do simulations for years now – he should've know, what the hell?"

"Some of us wanted actual, solid walls to lean against," Natasha explains, glaring at Steve, who at least looks reasonably guilty.

"And you could use the spare floors…why?"

Natasha turns to glare at Steve. "Yeah, why not?"

Steve seems to deflate slightly, literally curling in on himself.

"Plus, we didn't really think you'd be coming back," Natasha amends. "You're sharing with someone, right?"

"Darcy's being a good roomie," I confirm. "For the next who-knows-how-long. Oh, by the way, she asked that you and I," I motion between the two of us, "and Betty, Jane, and she have a girls' day or night or something. We've got some…stuff to air out."

Natasha nods eagerly. "I look forward to it."

Dad claps his hands. "So, if you're done, ladies, I think that wraps up the meeting."

Steve nods and goes to get up, but my eyes lock onto him faster than the suits' laser targeting system. "No, not you, sit."

Steve slowly sits back down, my eyes still boring into his head. Dad opens his mouth to protest, but Natasha seems to know what I'm thinking and quickly drags him out.

Once the door clicks shut behind them, I break the staring contest by going over to the console by the door and engaging the soundproofing, disabling the cameras and audio, muting Jarvis, and engaging all the locks.

(Starks are nothing if not paranoid.)

"Taylor?"

I turn sharply and walk back to the table, glaring at Steve as he begins to stand again. "Sit down. You can't get out anyways."

"Taylor-"

"Sit _down_ ," I growl, leaning across the table and deliberately into his personal space. "Cap, you speak German, yeah?"

"Uh, yes."

"Good," I nod. " _Halt die Klappe und geh in einem Loch sterben_."

He pales and his eyes-widen as he sits, and I allow a vicious smirk. "So."

"So…" he says slowly.

I settle into my chair, giving Steve the smile I usually give douchebag investors. "How has your month been, Steve?"

"It wasn't…amazing," he stammers.

I nod sagely. "Well, mine was _hell._ Do you why it was hell?" I lean forward, bracing myself against the table.

"Er-"

"It was absolute hell because in the process of being loyal to my father, I had to leave the only other man I've ever loved behind. Tell me, Steve, would you have left Peggy?"

"No – but I-"

"How about Bucky?"

"That's not the same!" he protests hotly.

I arch an eyebrow. "Isn't it? But I digress. So now I've left Clint behind, been forced to abandon my home, abandon all my friends, I'm forced into the spotlight for all the wrong reasons…and then Bruce gets kidnapped."

I watch Steve start to fidget as I continue. "And so I go and get him, and I end up getting stabbed. By Natasha. But I don't blame her – I shot first," I shrug. "And then I disobeyed a few more orders and the Avengers attacked the compound – and I shot at Natasha _again_. Then I get kidnapped by the people I had once trusted with my life, sedated for four days, and then Bucky Barnes comes along and helps me out. What does that say about your cause, Steve, that your best friend is willing to abandon it?"

Steve stays quiet, and I watch a thoughtful expression wash over his face.

"And I got mesh sewn into my hand," I continue quietly. "And then came the final battle."

I sink into my chair wearily. "'The Battle of San Francisco', they're calling it. In that battle, I shot down a plane, got thrown into a building, raced Falcon all around the city, and ended up cutting off half of one of his wings. I stole your shield, destroyed part of the Golden Gate Bridge, fought Clint, and he got shot."

"So you can understand," I continue, "why I just wanted to come home and pass out for a few hours. But I can't, because the same man that split my family in two has now taken my sanctuary from me. Do you even understand the extent of what you've done, Cap?"

He gives me a sorrowful, pleading look. "Taylor, I didn't mean to…"

"Didn't mean to _what_? Give an order that would've killed a civilian child? Degrade my dad to the point of him leaving the only family he's had since he was seventeen?"

Steve looks absolutely crushed, and he's giving me those big, blue, puppy-dog eyes that everyone always falls for. I push my chair back and stand up, shaking my head forlornly. "We're done here. Wait, oh, one more thing. Steve?"

"Yeah?"

I lean forward again, getting right in his face. "If you ever, and I mean _ever_ , allow anything like this to happen again, I swear to whatever you hold dear that I will punch some sense into you with my bare hands, super-soldier or not."

With that, I reel my right fist back and aim a punch right at his nose, metal hitting flesh with a satisfying _thud_.

I straighten up and give him a cheerful smile. " _Now_ we're really done here." I turn towards the door and walk out. "Jarvis, disengage the locks, the soundproofing, all that."

I hear the room return to normal and open the door, looking back a Steve – who was nursing a broken, bloody nose – with a dead serious expression. "See you around sometime, Cap."

The door shuts with a resounding _click_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to necessaryreading, Toni (Guest), Csilla (Guest), TheGirlOfTooManyFandoms, RussianAssassin, and candycrum for reviewing the last chapter. Glad to see you liked what Steve got!**

* * *

 _ **Days since the Battle of San Francisco: 7**_

* * *

"Have you seen my gloves?" I call over my shoulder, rummaging around in one of my desk drawers.

"Not since Thursday, why?"

I rock back on my heels and look up just in time to see my dad quickly shut off a hologram. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he replies innocently, busying himself with something on his desk.

I roll my eyes as I stand up, scanning my desk. "What _were you_ working on?"

"Renovation ideas," he says simply, not offering any other explanation.

"Fine, don't tell me," I sigh. "Jarvis, have you seen my gloves?"

" _They are in the left-hand bottom drawer of your desk, ma'am,"_ the AI reports, sounding amused.

I yank open the drawer, snatching the gloves and putting them out, hurriedly slipping them on.

"Where are you headed to in such a hurry?" Dad questions idly, already absorbed in another set of holograms.

"The Starbucks on 45th," I explain as I shrug my coat on. "Girls' trip. Because, you know, we actually talk things out, unlike guys."

"Oh ha ha," he mocks. "I've seen Clint talk to you plenty of times."

To my credit, my step only falters slightly before I continue out the door. "Yeah. See you later."

New York is always busy, of course, but less so on a Sunday, so I make good time to the coffee shop.

Jane, Natasha, Betty, and Darcy are waiting at a table on the outdoor patio, and there are a caramel Frappuccino and a chocolate chip brownie waiting for me.

"Hey," I greet them warmly as I sit down. "You got me food?"

"No, we got you snowballs," Darcy scoffs. "Duh."

I reach over to slap her shoulder before shoving half the brownie in my mouth. "So houf 'oo ban?"

"Taylor!"

"S'rry." I swallow and use my napkin to wipe my mouth. "How've you been?" I ask.

And then, looking around the table, realize that's a bit like going _so you just got your leg chewed off, how are you doing?_

It's Natasha who finally speaks up. "I think all have a lot of apologies to make," she admits.

"Except me," Darcy chirps. "Because I'm just that awesome-" I silence her with a _look_. "Fine. Me too."

The table falls silent for a moment before Jane suddenly blurts out "I didn't mean to!"

I jump and look over in surprise as she continues. "Taylor, I'm sorry, Darcy told me what happened and – I didn't – I just wanted all of you to stop it and come home!"

"I know," I tell her soothingly, "because believe it or not, that is what I wanted too."

"I did miss the team," Natasha admits, and Betty nods.

"You have to understand," Jane says, "that before I met Thor I was a low-down astrophysicist from a small town in New Mexico that used pencils to hold her hair in a bun. And then I meet Thor and suddenly I'm being flown to New York to meet the _Starks_ , of all people, and I was only just getting used to it when it all got ripped away again."

I push my chair back, walking around to crouch by Jane's shoulder. "Okay, first off, I appreciate the hero worship. Really. Thanks."

She gives a wobbly laugh, and I take this as a good sign to continue. "But you also don't need to be overwhelmed. Did you know that somewhere out there in the world there's a picture of a ten-year-old girl with big, black Steve Urkel glasses that were quite literally held together with tape, wearing a ratty old denim jacket, and had a huge gap if her two front teeth?"

She turns to look at me. "Really? But you're so…"

I shake my head. "I wasn't."

"I'm going to find that picture," Darcy proclaims.

I glance at Natasha briefly, turning back to Jane and ignoring the sound of a light smacking sound coming from Darcy's seat. "Jane, I'm a _nerd_. Okay? I am. I can't even count the times I got beat up before I was twelve, but I can guarantee you it'll take more than one hand."

I watch a bit of familiarity spark in her eyes, and I know I just described her past. "But _you_ changed," she protests.

"It's just braces, contacts, and a stylist," I shrug. "They work miracles. And the only reason I changed was because I had to – society had a thing against dorky nerds so I became a suave, slightly deadly executive superhero."

"Is that on your resume?" Jane teases.

"I've never needed one," I retort with no real heat. "So seriously, no more intimidation, okay? No one will judge."

"And if they do," Natasha cuts in, "they'll find themselves minus an important organ or two."

Jane blushes scarlet. "Guys, you don't have to-"

"We do," I correct her. "Shh. No arguing. I'll tell you what I told Darcy a few weeks ago: any more guilt and I'll throw you off the Tower roof."

She nods and gives me a small smile. "I really didn't know about the panic attack, Taylor. I wouldn't have sent it if I did, I swear to Thor."

I nod and walk back to my seat as Darcy interjects, "Can you even swear on your boyfriend? I mean, you've seen the guy naked. That'd be like Taylor going 'I swear to Clint!'."

"Clint isn't a god," Natasha argues.

"And I've never seen him naked," I admit. "And he's not currently my boyfriend."

"What do you mean, 'he's not currently your boyfriend'? He woke up-" Darcy cuts herself off, hazel eyes narrowing at me. "You haven't seen him, have you?"

"Ah…no?" It comes out more like a question, and I purposely keep my eyes on the stone mosaic pattern of the tabletop.

"Taylor!" Natasha exclaims, slamming a hand down on the table and causing it to shudder. I grimace and lift my coffee out of harm's way as she continues. "Why not?"

"Because I don't even think we're friends right now, let alone _dating_ ," I shrug. "I have no more right to see him than Joe from the sandwich shop does. Actually, no, Joe has more – he brings lunch."

Darcy gives a long-suffering sigh. "And here I thought you were a genius."

"What? It's true. Joe does bring lunch-"

"No!" she howls. "About _Clint_ , your not-boyfriend simply because you are being self-depreciating."

"I am not," I deny. "And I don't want to talk about this anymore." I turn to Betty. "Anything you'd like to get off your chest?"

Betty, to her credit, doesn't even blink an eye at the obvious subject change. "Guatemala is humid as hell."

"It is," Natasha agrees, sounding reluctant to leave the former topic. "I was there for a mission in '08. I will bet you fifteen bucks I had it worse than you."

Betty raises an eyebrow dubiously. "Oh?"

"You got to go in December and January," Natasha reminds her. " _I_ had to go from mid-May to mid-August."

Betty pauses, considers that, and grimaces before taking out her wallet and sliding a ten and a five across the table. "Damn."

Natasha just nods sagely as she slips her new wealth into a pocket. "But how did you like it?"

Betty shrugs indifferently. "The science was nice, but I really wanted to be home, you know, helping."

"No you wouldn't," Darcy and I chime simultaneously, and I give the other girl a look before turning back to Betty. "No, believe me, you did _not_ want to be in the US during…that. Property and major national landmark damages aside, it was…bad."

"That's an understatement," Darcy mumbles.

"It was really bad," I murmur, my arms instinctively going to fold over my chest before I pulled them back. "That month was all political intrigue and spies and never, ever a world I wanted to enter," I admit, glancing over at Natasha. "No offense. But Betty, I don't – I can't tell you everything. You _do_ actually need to sleep…or so I'm told."

Betty glares at me, her eyes flashing darkly. "Is it _can't_ or _won't_? Taylor, my father is a five-star general that's been in the Army for longer than I've been alive. I'm dating the _Hulk_. I'm quite used to bad dreams, thank you very much."

I hold my hands up in surrender. "Alright, no need to get all hissy. I don't _want_ to tell you, but…" I let out a short huff and lean forward to brace my forearms on the table, balancing my chin on my fisted hands. "I had to watch friends shoot friends. I had to be in constant fear whenever I left the compound because I _knew_ what my enemies were capable of and they were a lot more powerful than I was. I had to stare my boyfriend down and consider shooting him. Like, literally, _actually_ shoot him. I was ready to, too."

I break off suddenly and stare down at the table – or, more precisely, my left hand. It now had a slight tremble to it, and Bruce's words suddenly come to mind: _you shouldn't have a tremor anymore, that's good news._

Yeah? Well then why was my hand shaking?

"It's just shock," a voice murmurs near my ear, and I suddenly become aware of the hand rubbing up and down my spine. "It's just shock, _ptitsa_ , just shock. Shh, you're alright."

I let my eyes fall shut and instinctively lean into her embrace, something in my head letting out a long-held breath. "Я никогда не хотел причинить тебе боль," I whimper piteously. _I never meant to hurt you._

"Я знаю. И ни сделал я." _I know. And neither did I._

"Прости." _I'm sorry._

"Я тоже." _Me too._

I let out a breath I hadn't know I was holding as I scrub at my suspiciously-wet eyes, surely all red and puffy by now. I lift my head up to look at Betty, Jane, and Darcy, all of which were looking at me with deeply concerned expressions. "I'm sorry," I rasp, barely audible.

Darcy is the first to speak, blunt as always. "No guilt or I throw you off the Tower roof."

I snort but nod anyways, wearily rubbing at my face.

"How about we go home?" Jane suggests, and there's general agreement all around.

"I walked here," I sigh.

"So we'll call you a cab," Natasha announces, pulling me out of my seat, the now-cold Frappuccino long forgotten.

"Not helpless," I grumble, but allow myself to be manhandled.

It was nice to know someone cared.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to RussianAssassin, necessaryreading, TheGirlOfTooManyFandoms, and candycrum for reviewing the last chapter.**

* * *

 _ **Days since the Battle of San Francisco: 9**_

* * *

The infirmary was quiet.

But then again, so was mostly everything else as 2 am. That's usually the way things worked in the world.

And I never was one to follow what _should be._

I come to a quiet stop into front of room 23C, the door a blank grey except for the silver letter, the metal glinting green thanks to my night-vision enabled sunglasses. And while I knew it was just a door, an inanimate object that _could not_ hurt me, it was being pretty darn intimidating right now.

 _Get it together, Taylor!_ I chide myself. _It is a door. It cannot freakin' hurt you._

My conscience was so helpful, wasn't it?

I shake my head and grab the doorknob before I can decide not to, quietly pushing the door open and stepping into the infirmary room, which was dark and quiet except for the quiet beeping of all the various life-saving equipment.

I slip off my glasses, Jarvis immediately bringing the lights up to a dim 10%. I quietly pad over to the figure on the bed, being careful not to disturb any of the leads and wires.

Clint was still and quiet, but I could see his chest rising and fall at about 14 breaths per minute, so I knew he was alright. Just sleeping. Which, technically, I should be doing too, but it was all based on principle.

I quietly maneuver a chair over to the bedside, sitting in the side-saddle and just watching him for a moment, my eyes finding all of the Band-Aids on his face and arms, as well as the bandages on his nose with dried blood on them.

I still don't know what I did there – the memory was all fuzzy and gray. I would have to check the security cameras back in 'Frisco.

I sigh softly. "Hey, Hawkeye," I greet, my voice barely a whisper. "Well, the girls say I need to talk to you, and as much as I agree, this is kinda hard, so bear with me here, okay?"

Clint peacefully sleeps on, so I take this as a sign to continue. "So – I know I should really wait to say this until you're awake and I'm actually keeping normal sleeping hours like you nag – I mean, _nagged_ me to, but…" I shrug. "This is easier for now."

"Everyone's been pressuring me to talk to you for a few days now, so here goes," I begin. "First off, I love you. You know that, right? Because you said you loved me before you, um, passed out, and I was kinda losing my mind right then, so I never responded properly. To my credit, I saved your life and you didn't bleed out, so that's good. Oh, and I love you."

I pause, taking a moment to laugh softly and shake my head. "Now I'm rambling, damn it. See, this is why I need you. Um, what else…oh, sorry I haven't been by at all. This is gonna sound sucky of me, but I'm not sure of…us. Don't get me wrong – I love you, hawk, I have since I was an itty-bitty naïve teenager, but over the past month, we've done a few things that aren't exactly, ah, romantic."

I give a humorless, caustic laugh at that. "Yeah, I realize how much of an understatement that is. Anyways, if you wanted to call it quits, for real this time, it would be – well, no, it wouldn't be okay, per say, because it would hurt worse than most physical wounds, but if it made you happy, I could bear it," I admit. "Not happily, granted, but still."

I continue to go on about what I've been up to in the past week: people I've met, places I've hacked ("Just the FBI, CIA, and NSA, don't worry…"), and the destruction of my floor ("They had no right!"), among many other things.

Eventually, once my throat was sore and scratchy, I stand and stretch, working out all the kinks in my back and neck. Surprisingly, my watch now reads 3 am, but everyone always says I could talk an empty room to death.

I look down at Clint, who was still asleep – and dreaming about something, if his facial expressions were anything to go by – and take a step closer to the bed.

I hesitate slightly before bending down to press a kiss to his forehead, barely catching the familiar scent of leather and shampoo underneath all the antiseptic smells before I straighten up again and quietly leave the room, the lights going down as soon as I leave.

I set out for Darcy's floor – and my room within it – but I don't get very far before running into Thor.

Literally: I smacked head-first into his breastplate and damn it, _why_ was he wearing armor at three in the morning?

"Hi there, big guy," I greet as I step back, now rubbing a sore forehead. "Is your armor the only thing you have to wear? If so, I'm going to have to take you on a shopping spree."

He gives me an amused look. "Nay, Lady of Iron, I do possess other garments. However, the tension between our shieldbrothers and sister are running wild as a jötnar. I have felt it…necessary…to wear the armor lately."

I nod and glance down glumly. "Of course."

There's silence for a few moments, and I begin to think Thor's left before he speaks again. "Lady of Iron, would you welcome a conversation this evening?"

I look at him in surprise before shrugging. "Sure. Hey, why are you up? I mean, at least _I'm_ known for my erratic sleeping schedule that is really no schedule at all."

He smiles wanly. "Sleeps evades me on this night, as it does many others."

I nod sympathetically, offering no platitudes because what could I do? "So what's a jötnar?" I ask curiously.

"Big. giant-like creatures," he explains, his eyes gaining a far-away look like they always did when he talked about Asgard. "They are much feared back home, for they rampage and destroy all that is in their path. They are much like Friend Banner's Angry One."

I nod, imagining a cross between Hulk and a giant out of the Harry Potter series. "Well, you'd be right about the tension," I admit. "Although I think we're getting better, Dad and Steve are still at each other's throats."

"I've seen nobler generals go to war over less in this span of time," Thor comments idly as he pushes open a door – no locks or keypads or anything, I notice absently, I should fix that – and invites me inside.

I find myself standing in the middle of an indoor garden, the air around me cool and slightly damp. The ceiling was decorated with millions of holographic stars forming constellations I didn't recognize. Is this what Asgardian nights looked like?

"Yes, this is a fair representation of my mother's palace garden," Thor says, and I realize I said that last bit out loud. Thor sits on a large stone bench depicting a griffin and some rune work I couldn't tell heads nor tails of and pats the seat next to him.

I sit, leaning back to watch the stars – I've been mainly a city girl for the past six years, where you couldn't see the stars for the lights, and even out in California, there weren't stars like this.

"You were right, you know," I remark quietly. At Thor's confused look, I continue. "What you said during the battle. ''Tis a foolish war,'" I imitate, dropping my voice a few octaves and putting an almost English accent to it. "You were right. It was foolish."

"I knew you would see that, in time," Thor agrees. "You and your father, in particular, are not known for being dim-witted."

I give him a sad smile. "Then why did you see that right away when it cost the rest of us one month, a few stab wounds, half a bridge, and three bullet wounds?"

Thor studies me for a moment, and I catch a glimpse of age-old wisdom in his eyes. "You blame yourself?"

"Yes." I pause. "No. Well, I know it's not _entirely_ my fault, because no game ever has one player. But I played a major part here. What if I'd seen something sooner?"

"Do not dwell on 'what if'," Thor warns. "I have done that many a night myself and it gets you nowhere but farther from where you started."

"I know," I groan, setting my head in my hands. "Oh, and speaking of guilt, talk to Jane sometime, will you? Take her out to dinner someplace normal, treat her for a night. It's on me."

"Lady Stark…" he hesitates.

"Call me Taylor, please," I request. "And seriously, buddy, she's being insufferably guilty and it's slowly breaking what's left of my actual heart," I tap the reactor. "Please?"

He nods, still looking hesitant. "There is an establishment called the Garden of Olive that I have been wanting to try," he admits. "Does it fare well?"

"Olive Garden," I correct. "And yeah, it's got fairly good food, by Jane's standards anyways. And there's one on West 47th Street, about ten minutes away." I nod. "Sounds good. Go there."

Thor nods as if I'd just given him the codes to some nukes or something (which I might have had, but let's not talk about that…). "Thank you, Friend St – Taylor," he catches himself. "You've given me the keys to rebuilding a very big piece of my life on Midgard."

I nod and slump slightly. "What are the rest of us supposed to do?"

"Build a life outside the battlefield," Thor advises sagely, and I look over at him. "I have seen many warriors, much older than yourself, waste away and become bitter because they've found anything beyond the next fight," he explains. "You have already seen this with Friends Clint and Natasha; they were destined for a similar fate."

"Until we rescued them from SHIELD," I muse. "So that's it?"

"That is it," he nods. "Find yourself happiness beyond battles; build yourself a family and do not allow anyone to dig themselves into that steep spiral."

I nod, his words echoing in my head ( _Find yourself happiness_ ). "Right. Can't be too hard." I stand, shaking out my legs. "I'm off to bed. Don't stay up too late, alright, Pikachu?"

He looks confused at the reference, of course, but nods anyways. "Good night, Friend Taylor."

"'Night, Thor," I whisper as I walk out, leaving the god alone with the stars of his home planet and both of us carrying some new ideas for what was to come.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to RussianAssassin, candycrum, thewriterstory, and TheGirlOfTooManyFandoms for reviewing the last chapter!**

* * *

 _ **Days since the Battle of San Francisco: 10**_

* * *

The sound of pounding footsteps is usually bad.

"Taylor! _Taylor!_ Come quick – your dad and Steve are beating the crap out of each other!"

Strike that, _always_ bad.

I set down the welding torch I was holding and flip up the face mask to properly look at Darcy. "What?"

"Your dad and Steve are fighting," Darcy pants, "in the gym."

I frown slightly, curious as to what my dad was in the gym, of all places, for in the first place. "So? That's practically a daily occurrence. They'll fizzle out soon enough," I reassure her, reaching up to flip the welding mask back down.

"Not like this!" she protests. "Fists are flying and they've locked us out!"

I sigh and flip the mask up again. "Us?"

"Bucky, Natasha, Bruce, Thor, me…everyone that's at the Tower right now."

"And they locked you out _how_?" I question.

"Override codes," she shrugs. "Jarvis said something about Alpha codes-"

I cut her off with some colorful words in French, tugging off the welding mask and the work gloves I had been wearing, quickly walking around the desk and out the door.

"Um, this is bad, then?" Darcy asks behind me as I head for the elevator.

"Very bad," I agree. "The Alpha-codes are the code to end all codes – _I_ can't even bypass them. They're usually used against me, though – when my dad wants me to stay out of something or something of that nature."

"So your version of a time-out, then," she sums up as we step into the elevator.

I roll my eyes as I punch the button for the gym floor Steve usually used, my fingers beating out a quick, nervous beat on the elevator railing.

About five minutes later, we arrive in front of the main gym, where there's a small crowd of angrily whispering people.

I tap Bucky on the shoulder. "What's going on?"

"Tony and Steve have locked themselves in there," he nods at the glass doors, "and are apparently duking it out."

I nod and look over his shoulder at the door. "Can you keep the crowd controlled? I need to try to get in there."

He nods and I slip past him, but he stops me with a question. "Aren't those codes unhackable?"

I glance over my shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "Watch me." I turn back around and consider the keypad for a moment. "Jarvis, override code: Little Bird Archer 2-0-1-5."

" _Override denied, ma'am,"_ the AI informs me regretfully.

"I figured as much," I murmur as I sink to one knee to get a closer look at the keypad. "Override code: Sparrow 1-1-2-0-1-6."

" _Override denied, ma'am."_

My frown deepens as I try again. "Override code: Iron Beta 0-8-2-6-2-0-1-3."

" _Override code denied, ma'am."_

I take a deep breath before giving it one last shot. "Override code: Taylor Maria Stark 0-5-3-0-2-0-0-0."

"… _Override denied, Miss Stark."_

I swear violently in Italian. That was my highest clearance code; if that code wasn't working, he _really_ didn't want me in there and it had better be for a darn good reason.

I sink to one knee in front of the keypad and begin punching in numeric codes, mumbling under my breath. "10.12.1995…no, damn it all." I give the glass doors an anxious glass, watching as the distant figures that were my dad and Steve went at each other again and again. "Jarvis, can you at least route the audio through?"

" _Certainly, ma'am,"_ the AI responds, and the speaker above us crackle.

" _-had no right!"_ That's Dad and holy Thor he sounds _mad._

" _I had every right!"_ Steve shouts. _"I am the leader here!"_

I tune them out for the most part as I go back to punch numbers into the keypad. _09.24.1973…nope._

 _12.17.1991_ … _nada._

 _04.14.2012…zip._

" _How dare you!"_ Dad shouts over the speakers. _"She has done nothing-"_

" _She has done everything!"_ Steve argues. _"She followed you without hesitation-"_

"They're talking about you," Bucky whispers.

"You don't _say_ ," I drawl. "We don't need to whisper. They aren't gonna hear an atomic bomb dropping in here, let alone us. This code, though-"

"It would be something not many people know about," Natasha suggests. "Something close to the heart, and long, too – it can't be too easy."

I nod and go back to listening to the speakers.

 _-she wouldn't have hesitated to leave me in the dust, had she thought I was doing the wrong thing?"_ Dad asks. _"Taylor knows better than to be a yes-man – or woman, as it is. I've taught her better than that."_

" _Are you sure?"_ Steve challenges. _"She would've rather died than follow me."_

I wince, because _ow._

" _Has she told you that?"_

" _Outright?"_ There's a thud, and I grimace. _"No, but-"_

" _Then it's not true,"_ Dad insists. _"You can't read between the lines when she's mad like this."_

" _Why is she even mad at me?"_ Steve asks, sounding like he's mostly talking to himself. _"She followed_ _you_ _because_ _you_ _left."_

" _Because I was tired of being left!"_ Dad exclaims, sounding extremely frustrated with everything. _"I've been left behind before. Thought I'd try it myself."_ There's another thud, and I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. "Bruce, I'd go get a First-Aid kit."

"It's already right here," he assures me, and I nod.

" _At least everyone you love isn't dead,"_ Steve retorts, and my heart sinks slightly at the completely lost tone in his voice. Bucky comes to crouch by my side, his expression distant.

" _Oh, not everyone, but close,"_ Dad argues. _"Need I list them? Howard, my mother, Y-Yinsen, Obie-"_ I shudder violently here, and Bucky gently puts a hand on the nape of my neck, _"-Rebecca…"_

 _Rebecca._

Something clicks suddenly, and everything falls into place – not widely known? Check. Close to the heart? Yep. And her full name _was_ pretty long…

"Natasha," I turn to look at her. "How fast can you do a letters to numbers cipher?"

"Fast enough," she replies.

"Rebecca Lynn Santiago," I prompt. "Got it?"

"Got it," she hums, then falling silent.

" _And not everyone's dead,"_ Dad points out. _"Those that are have sons and daughters, and Peggy is not-"_

Apparently that's a touchy subject, because there's a loud _thud_.

"Natasha…" I urge.

"Got it," she confirms, and begins to read off a long string of numbers.

" _Don't mention-"_

" _You can't hide from your past!"_

" _Like you did?"_ Steve challenges.

"…one, one, two, two, five, one, four, one, four, one, nine…"

" _I have not hidden from anything!"_ Dad snaps.

" _Really?"_ Steve challenges. " _Merchant-"_

I shiver slightly, but continue to punch in numbers.

"…two, zero, nine, one…"

There's a _thud_ and an almost inhuman growl that surprises me. _"How DARE you-!"_

" _You needed that."_

" _I don't need jack-s-"_ There's a loud _thud_ and everything goes silent in the room for a moment.

"…seven, one, five!" Natasha finishes, and I stab the 'enter' key, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding as the light blinks green and the doors hiss open.

I'm the first one in the door, making a bee-line over to my dad, who was lying flat on his back and peppered with dark bruises. "Dad?"

"'M okay," he grunts. "How'd you get in?"

"I used my mother," I explain cryptically as Bruce comes over to kneel by my side and begin pestering my dad with doctor-ish questions.

Confident that he's okay – or at least going to be okay – I get up and head over to Steve, who was still standing in the middle of the boxing ring, looking slightly stunned.

While I'm happy to see some bruises blooming on his skin, it does absolutely nothing for the fire growing in my gut as I hop in the ring and storm up to him. "Rogers," I snarl, "what did I _tell_ you-"

"Stand down, Iron Beta."

I look back at my dad, who was now propped up against the ropes bordering the ring. "But he-"

"-is still the leader of this team, and believe it or not, he's earned that," he insists. "Listen to him."

"He-"

"Talk, Taylor," he pushes. "Use your words. You're not a rage-blind bull, so don't act like one."

I dip my head and sigh deeply, suitably chided as I take a few steps back. "Fine. What happened?"

"Just some guys working out their issues," Steve answers calmly. "Don't worry about it."

"Don't give me that," I snap, crossing my arms. "My father looks like a Dalmatian. And not in that cute-puppy way, either. So what happened?"

Steve tries again "We had some tension to work out, and apparently the only way we could do that was beating the living daylights out of each other. Mainly because your father is stubborn as a mule."

"Am not," Dad protests. "A mule has _nothing_ on me."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Whatever you say."

I glance between the two a few times to make sure I'm really seeing this before giving up with a shake of my head. _Men._ "So that's it, then? After all this, you guys are just _best friends_ now?"

Steve frowns at the mockery in my tone. "Well, not best friends exactly, but we understand why the actions were taken."

"And we don't feel like gouging each other's eyes out anymore," Dad adds.

I roll my eyes at him before taking another step back and shaking my head again. "I will never understand the male brain." I glance over at Bruce, who was packing up the First-Aid kit. "Everything okay, doc?"

"Just bruises," he reports. "They'll both be sore for some time, but there's nothing major going on."

I nod as the doctor helps my dad up and they head for the door, my dad complaining about how he had to oversee some floor renovations, and why couldn't he pay someone to do that?

I wait for everyone to trickle out before turning back to Steve, who now looks reasonably scared, given that the last time we were in a room alone together, he got cussed out in German and punched.

I hold out my hands to show that they were empty – an obvious show of surrender – before taking a seat on the floor and waiting for him to do the same.

"How's your nose?" I ask once he's seated a few feet away.

"Oh, that?" he scoffs. "It healed about a week ago."

"Good. Your boyfriend would've killed me if I broke your face," I quip.

"Bucky and I aren't dating," he protests, his cheeks turning pink.

"That's funny," I smirk. "I don't remember mentioning Bucky by name."

"Um – I didn't – you..." I amusedly watch him blush and stammer for a few seconds before taking pity on him. "I don't trust you."

Well…that killed the mood. _Quickly._

"Right now," I amend. "I don't trust you _right now_. But only personally, because I do know you're the leader in the field and your decisions are right 99% of the time."

"If you know I'm the leader, then why do you argue?" Steve asks, just sounding honestly curious.

"Because I've got authority issues?" I try. At his deadpan look, I give the real answer. "Have you ever noticed that I only argue with the plans that end up sucking? Because, contrary to popular belief, I _can_ and _will_ follow orders. According to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. – do you know who he is?"

"Yeah," Steve nods. "The, um, black rights leader person."

I blink before bursting out laughing. "Steve – no, no, don't look at me like that, you got it right, it's just…never mind." I wipe at my eyes. "So anyways, Dr. King once said that 'One has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws.' Do you understand?"

"But if you disobey every law you don't agree with, you'd be a criminal," Steve protests.

"No," I deny, "I wouldn't. Because it's not about not agreeing with the law, it's about thinking it's unjust, and there's a difference. For instance, New York has a law that says it is illegal to congregate in public with two or more people while each wearing a mask or any face covering which disguises your identity. Do I agree with this law? No, because Halloween parties, damn it. Do I think it's unjust? No, because bank robbers wear masks too."

"So...you're saying that my orders aren't unjust, just disagreeable?" Steve guesses cautiously.

I nod. "I knew there was hope for you yet. I still follow most of your orders because most of them are entirely justifiable. But that one with the little girl?" I narrow my eyes at him. _"Hell no."_

He sighs and tips his head back, closing his eyes. "I know."

"Then please explain what was flying through your head at the time."

"There could've been rogue ants out there, and I didn't want anyone going off and getting ambushed. That said, I didn't expect the little girl and had I been there, I would've been taking action."

"But you weren't," I whisper. "You weren't there and you weren't taking action. And somehow, the entire team decided that your word is gospel and completely unbreakable."

"That wasn't supposed to happen," he defends.

"But it did," I point out, rubbing a hand down my face. "The point is that it _did_ happen, and you handled it all the wrong way, with rallies and people holding up signs that threatened death to the Legion."

"It's a delicate balance," he admits, "between too much control and not enough."

"Try and remember that no man is an island," I suggest. "Because yeah, while you are the _captain_ of this team, which means you get to make the decisions, you are also the captain of this _team_ , which means that you're supposed to listen to us. Not only listen, but _hear_ us."

"In order for me to hear, you have to speak."

"Yeah, my family isn't too good at that," I admit with a small grin. "But we'll try if you do."

"That's all we need," Steve nods.

I nod in agreement. "Don't let this happen again, okay? Because I meant what I said about beating sense into you. And I'll let Bucky help."

He pales as he gets up, walking over to help me up. "Noted. So…are we good?"

"We're better," I correct as he pulls me up. "Not good…just yet."

He gives this some consideration before nodding again.

"Better. I can do that."

* * *

 **Bonus points to anyone that recognizes any of the override codes or the numeric codes!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to RussianAssassin, candycrum, and TheGirlOfTooManyFandoms for reviewing the last chapter.**

* * *

 _ **Days since the Battle of San Francisco: 13**_

* * *

" _Ma'am, Sergeant Barnes is requesting entry,"_ Jarvis chimes, the sound of Guns 'N' Roses quieting behind him.

"Don't let him in, J," I call as I finish rotating the huge piece of metal I was working on to a new angle.

" _He's being quite insistent, ma'am,"_ the AI counters.

"Don't care," I grunt, sliding under the contraption with a small flashlight between my teeth. "'M busy."

" _Of course,"_ he replies primly, letting the music come back up and everything was right in my little world.

Until the music gives way to deafening silence, save for the sound of footsteps, and I watch as a pair of boots make their way across the lab and stop by my workbench.

"Taylor," a voice sighs. "It's been days."

"Jarvis, you traitor." I growl, addressing the ceiling, "You let him in!"

" _I would have denied access had his intent been malicious,"_ he defends.

"I brought food," Bucky interjects. "Not malicious at all."

"Depends," I quip, sliding out from under the table and setting the flashlight on the desk. "Did you poison it?"

"Oh, yes," he drawls, "you caught me. I want to poison you and then run away to the Caribbean with your boyfriend. We've been deeply in love for years and years now."

"I didn't know Clint liked younger men," I retort, "or just men. And how many times do I have to tell you he _isn't my boyfriend?_ "

"Sure," he sighs. "But we're getting off track here. I brought food," he points at two plastic bags on a relatively clean workbench, "and you will eat because it's been three days since you were last seen alive."

I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a finger. "Coffee doesn't count."

"I'm _busy_ ," I sigh. "The Quinjets aren't going to fix themselves."

"And you can't set Tony on this because…?" He breaks off to look around the lab. "Where _is_ Tony?"

"Overseeing the floor 67 restoration plans," I answer. "He won't tell me what he's up to. So I need to do this," I wave a hand at the partial Quinjet wing rest on my workbench.

"The jet isn't going to disintegrate if you leave it alone for an hour," Bucky argues. "And cut me some slack here: I'm not even trying to drag you up into the land of the living – where everyone's getting worried, by the way – and I got elected to do this."

"I see how it is," I sigh dramatically, but I eventually concede and stick a hand out. "Help me up."

He pulls me too my feet, not looking all to disturbed by the grease and oil that were coating my hands, just wiping a hand on his pant leg as I walk over to the sink in the corner to wash up. "What's for lunch?" I ask absently.

"Chinese. I went to Hop Won Palace – Tony said you liked the Pork Lo Mein," he says hesitantly, the end of the sentence lifting like a question.

"Yeah, but I'm not picky right now," I shrug. "I haven't eaten in…Jarvis?"

" _The last substantial meal you consumed was at dinner on the 22nd, Miss Stark,"_ the AI reports disapprovingly.

Bucky lets out a litany of swear words in about 10 different languages. "How the _hell_ are you even _alive_?"

"The human body can go 21 days without food," I defend as I make my way over to where he was sitting, hopping up onto the worktable behind where he was sitting. "I only went about 65 hours." I make grabby hands at the bag. "Gimme, gimme."

He hands over the cardboard carton, a pair of chopsticks, and a plastic fork with a sigh. "It still isn't healthy."

"You're acting like I haven't heard this lecture before," I mumble around a mouthful of rice. "Just drop it, alright? How are things on the surface?"

He gives me a doubtful look but leans back against the workbench I was sitting on anyways. "Well, we managed to have a peaceful breakfast this morning. Bruce made these spiced apple pancakes and you missed them."

I shrug. "He'll probably make them again. By 'peaceful' breakfast, do you mean 'not-awkward' or 'we weren't killing each other'?"

"The latter. It was awkwardly quiet, but we all managed to be in one room without reaching for the nearest weapons."

"Milestones!" I cheer. "It's the small things."

"I know," he agrees. "I've also found that no one can spar with anyone else yet because our minds instantly switch over to fight mode."

"It'll take a while," I reason, clumsily grabbing a piece of green pepper with the chopsticks, "but Rome wasn't built in a day."

"But it's almost been two weeks," he argues. "Shouldn't we be farther along by now?"

"Steve and I can stand next to each other without snarling like rabid dogs," I point out. "I can look Natasha in the eye without my hand shaking. Darcy and Jane have stopped blaming themselves for that stupid email. So we can't spar – so what? I call this progress. Speaking of progress, how are you and Steve?"

"I - what?" Bucky blinks at the slightly unusual segue. "We're fine. Stevie said you talked to him about not following orders or something and he sees why I left."

" _Stevie?"_ I give him an incredulous look. "Are you kidding me?"

Bucky blushes a deep red. "It was what I called him back in the 40s. Stop laughing!"

"I'm not laughing!" I insist, unable to keep the grin off my face. "I'm not making fun of you and your boyfriend."

"We aren't dating!" he exclaims. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"Until I believe it," I retort with a smirk.

Bucky gives me a dramatic eye-roll. _"So_ , besides jet repairs, what have _you_ been up to?"

I shrug. "Not much. Although I think I built an awesome coffee machine at one point - pretty sure it has six pots."

"That is a gift from the gods of coffee," Bucky gushes. "Wait – you _think_?"

"It was really late at night," I say sheepishly. "But...I think the framework's over there. I'll look at it later."

"And this took two days?" he asks skeptically.

"It's important work!" I protest.

"Okay, I'll give you the jet, but the coffee maker on steroids? That's important enough to not eat for nearly three days?"

I glare at him and violently shred a piece of pork with my chopsticks before deciding they weren't worth the effort and grabbing the fork. "It might be."

"It wasn't," Bucky retorts. "Who are you avoiding?"

"I'm not avoiding anyone," I deny.

"Is it Steve?" he prods.

"I'm not-"

"Tony?"

"-avoiding-"

"Natasha?"

"-anyone," I sigh. "Bucky…"

"I can do this all day," he boasts. "Is it Sam?"

"Still not avoiding anyone."

"Rhodey?"

"I'm not-"

"Darcy?"

" _Bucky_ -"

"Clint?" he asks, and my jaw closes with a _click_ as my fork clatters to the ground. Bucky gives me a calculating look. "It's Clint, isn't it?"

"No," I snap resolutely.

"Taylor," he chuckles. "I've been trained to detect lies, remember? And you can't lie to me. Why are avoiding Clint? He's been asking for you for a week now."

I set my now-cold food aside, my stomach churning too much to eat anyways. "Tomorrow's the two week mark and he's getting released. I can't face him yet."

"And if you're down here, he's less likely to reach you?" Bucky guesses, and I nod. "You'll talk to him eventually, right?"

"Technically, I've already talked to him," I admit. "A few days ago. But he was asleep."

Something flits across Bucky's face but he doesn't comment on that, instead just shaking his head. "Would it be insensitive if I told you to woman up?"

"Well I'm all out of options, so…"

"Okay then - woman up already!" he exclaims. "Good god, myshka, you'd think you were some delicate, wilting flower."

"I am not!" I protest hotly, then frowning as I catch his point. "Is that really what I've been doing?"

"To the rest of us, yes. Clint has a kicked-puppy look on every time we visit him and you're down here in a funk for days at a time. You both need to get your stuff sorted 'fore I lock you both in a room an' wait 'til you either make out or someone dies!" he rants, his old Brooklyn accent showing.

"Woah there, Buck. Your New Yorker is showing," I tease. "I'll talk to him, alright? We both know I can't hide forever. And should you try to force me into a locked room, we will have issues," I threaten. " _Issues_ , you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, ma'am!" He snaps off a sharp salute. "Although we both know I can take you."

"Is that so?" I ask in mock outrage as I get up to throw away my food container. "Don't you have somewhere to be, snezhinka?"

"Not really, but I know a dismissal when I see one," he says, and even with my back turned I know he's rolling his eyes. "You better come up for dinner tonight or I _will_ be down here to drag you out."

"I don't doubt it," I tell him, only half patronizingly. "Now get out and leave me in peace."

He turns to leave, but only after making a few obscene gestures in sign language.

"Love you too!" I call as I return to the jet wing I had been working on.

I would never admit it in a million years, but I did feel better than I had just an hour ago.

Yeah, I was _never_ admitting that to Bucky.

Never.

No.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks to RussianAssassin, Csilla (Guest), candycrum, and TheGirlOfTooManyFandoms for reviewing the last chapter!**

* * *

 **D _ays since the Battle of San Francisco: 13 (still)_**

* * *

" _Heads will roll and rock tonight/For those about to rock, we salute you! /For those about to rock, we salute you! /For those about to rock, we salute you, yes we do…."_

" _Ma'am, you have a visitor,"_ Jarvis interrupts – _again._

I twist around to give the nearest camera an irritable look. "If it's Bucky, tell him to leave it and I said I would be up for dinner," I huff as I inspect some frayed wiring on the underside of the Quinjet airfoil I was lying under.

Jarvis goes silent and the AC/DC comes back on, but only for a moment before it's shut off completely.

I give a low growl and click off the tiny flashlight I had been holding. "Bucky," I hiss as I slide out from under the machine, "I _told_ you-"

"I'm not Bucky."

I freeze in place, my eyes going wide as I stare at literally the only person in the entire Tower I've been trying to avoid for the past two weeks – Clint.

And, of course, my 198 IQ makes me come up with something really intelligent, like "Oh."

He just snorts and leans back against the wall near the door, leaving us studying each other in complete silence. Judging by his expression, though, my ex is just as anxious and uncomfortable as I am.

"Sooo…" I start hesitantly. "Um. Hi?"

"Hi yourself," he sighs and shakes his head. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"You were in the infirmary…" I trail off unconvincingly, still not fully over the initial shock.

"And let me guess, you were busy?" I nod haltingly as he looks around the workshop. "Right. I mean, it looks like it. But…you couldn't spare five minutes?"

"Clint…" I murmur softly, not quite knowing what to say to fill the yawning chasms of silence.

"I see," he mumbles, and I swear my heart shatters at the completely crushed look on his face. "I, um, guess…I'll see you at dinner, then?" he asks, and, without waiting for me to reply, turns towards the door.

"Clint, wait-" I plead, but then he's gone, leaving me standing alone in the middle of a dead silent lab with my mouth hanging slightly open and his slower-than-normal footsteps fading down the hall.

I groan and rub a hand over my face, swiping at the hot tears that were threatening to spill. "J, did that just happen or am I hallucinating?"

" _It did happen, Miss Stark."_

"And now I have to go eat dinner with everyone after _that_?" I make a face.

" _You did promise Sergeant Barnes, ma'am,"_ he points out smugly.

I sigh in defeat and slump my shoulders. "I hate it when I do that. Fine," I moan, throwing down my work gloves with more force than strictly necessary. "If I'm not back within an hour and a half, search the city for my body."

" _Of course, ma'am."_

I sigh again and put the screens around me into shutdown, leaving the lab quietly and feeling like I was walking to my execution.

And I'm allowed to be dramatic - I haven't slept in 3 days. Cut me some slack.

The communal floor is vaguely buzzing with tension and quiet conversation between Jane, Betty, and Darcy, like they're too afraid that they'll break something if they talk any louder.

Everyone goes quiet as I walk in, and all my instincts are screaming for me to _run! Run and never look back!_

Dad gets up with a huff and half carries, half drags me to the seat between himself and Bucky, which is _of course_ right across from Clint. Have I mentioned lately that my luck sucks?

Well, it does. My luck sucks.

I resolutely avoid his eyes, keeping my gaze on the Asian-type dish that was being served. I wasn't honestly that hungry, mainly because my stomach was tying itself in knots, but I figured I needed to eat.

"So," Steve tries. "This is...nice."

"Nice?" I snort quietly, echoed by my dad on my right. "Right."

"Well we're all in one place and not killing each other," he points out.

"But you couldn't cut the tension in here with a Katana," Natasha retorts frankly with a pointed look at me and then Clint.

Clint and I are barely able to share one glance before looking anywhere but at each other and isn't that pathetic?

"We're not the only ones at fault here," Clint argues. "Tony-"

"Stop throwing blame around," Steve orders. "Peaceful dinner, remember?"

I snort again but we all fall silent, the only sound being sounds of people breathing and chewing loudly.

By the end of the meal, the tension in the room has grown exponentially, past the elephant in the room to a cloud that was choking every single one of us.

I jump as Dad throws his fork down with a loud clatter.

"That's _it_!" he exclaims. "I'm sick and tired of you two throwing yourselves upon your swords!"

"We're not-" I try to protest.

"No!" He slides his chair back from the table and stands. "Come on. Floor 67. Let's go."

"I don't-"

Dad turns on his heels and fixes me with a piercing look before leaving the room, practically dragging Clint with him.

I move to get up and then stop, frozen in place by the thought of being trapped in the elevator with Clint and my ticked-off father.

The intercom by the entrance to the kitchen buzzes. _"Taylor, I don't care if you take the stairs, just hurry up before I get one of the super-soldiers to drag you up here."_

"Coming, coming," I sigh, shoving my chair back. "Old man," I add quietly, and Bucky laughs as I pass.

At least _someone_ was getting humor from this situation.

I make my way up the seven flights of stairs in pretty good time, pushing open the stairwell door to see my dad and Clint already waiting. "I'm here."

"Took you _forever_ ," Dad complains. "Now, Jarvis has locked you in here-"

"What?"

"Hey!"

"-so you might as well stay for the tour I'll be giving," Dad finishes, ignoring both our protests.

"Tour?" I ask. "Why do we need a tour?"

"Because I've redecorated quite a bit," he admits. "Just look around."

I turn to get a better look at the room, and find that, yes, it is different; the wood is a dark, dark brown, and there's a black sectional couch with its back to the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. Across from the couch, mounted on the wall that separated the living room from what I assumed was the kitchen, was a big TV with a media center that matched the floor. Between that and the couch there was a soft, plush, light grey rug, and a glass-topped low coffee table.

"Where are we?" Clint questions quietly.

"A retreat," Dad answers cryptically, leading us towards an archway. "Come on."

I make a face and glance at Clint tentatively, catching him looking back at me before we both turn away.

I shrug and follow my dad, Clint following me with his footsteps being just slightly unsteady.

Through the doorway there's an L-shaped hallway, with one branch leading straight ahead and the other to the right. Dad leads us to the first door on the right of the straight part, holding it open and gesturing for us to go ahead.

I step into a cavernous room about the size of a gymnasium, with stone floors that threw sound everywhere. Most of the room was taken up by a massive swimming pool, save for about ten feet that had a hexagonal hot tub.

I glance over at my dad and raise an eyebrow.

"There aren't many pools in the Tower, but I figured you two could use one," he explains. "For exercise, relaxation… _other_ things," he wiggles his eyebrows, earning a glare from me and an eye-roll from Clint.

I walk up to the edge of the pool, lining my toes up to the edge and peering into the calm, clear waters. "How deep is this?"

"Nine feet maximum," Dad calls. "Three feet at the shallow end, over there by the steps."

I glance at the northern end of the pool, where there was a small white staircase going from the edge of the pool to the bottom, complete with two handrails. "And how is it this deep?"

"Floor 66 is currently uninhabited," he admits. "Mainly boiler rooms and maintenance stuff. I was able to extend the pool and all of it's filtration systems downwards."

I nod, biting my lip as I consider the schematics.

"What's this?" My thoughts are interrupted by Clint, who was standing across the room, leaning against one of the four massive floor-to-ceiling windows that took up most of the southern half of the opposite wall, and on the other side was a dark room.

Clint taps the glass. "Hello?"

"Right, come on." Dad leads us out the way we came and down the fork of the hallway. At the end of the shorter hallways there's a set of oak double doors, simple but with minute scrollwork detailing.

Dad shoves the doors open with a flourish. "Jarvis, lights!"

The lights come on to reveal a pretty big room, with oak bookshelves lining the walls, a stone fireplace on the wall opposite the door, and even a small sitting area with a couch and an armchair in the upper left-hand corner.

I'm vaguely reminded of something from _Beauty and the Beast._

"Welcome to your library," Dad announces from behind me, and I turn to see him and Clint watching me, the latter with a look of soft amazement on his face.

(I don't think he was looking at the room.)

"Well, technically it's both of yours," Dad amends, pointing to the two of us, "but if we're honest here you'll probably be the one using it most. It's roughly 36 feet by 33 feet, it's got everything from Shakespeare to Lee Child and it's got a fantastic view of the pool." He points over to where, on the same wall as the door, the same windows we were looking at earlier looked out onto the pool, with a lounge chair pressed up against the window for optimal viewing.

"Dad," I turn back slowly, "you didn't have to-"

"Yes, I did," he cuts me off. "Want to see the rest of it?"

"There's more?" Clint asks in awe, sounding a bit like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Of course there's more, birdbrain," Dad rolls his eyes as we walk back into the hallway. "It's like you don't even _know_ me."

"There isn't actually a bedroom here," he explains as we return to the main hallway, "because as much as I joke, that's not really something I _want_ to think about, in all honesty," he admits, and I silently agree. "Plus, if everything goes according to plan, you guys will get your own place one day and this is a _retreat_ , not a permanent living situation."

I feel a blush climbing up my neck as he leads me and Clint, who has gone strangely quiet, thorough a door across from the pool.

We step into a massive gym, longer than it is wide, that has everything from a high-tech treadmill to a basketball hoop and an entire back wall that's covered in a rock-climbing wall.

"Welcome to the ultimate athlete's playground," Dad announces from the center of the room, arms spread. "Basketball, rock climbing, running, cardio; you name it, this place probably has it."

I give a small smile of appreciation and rock back on my heels to watch Clint examine everything with an excited energy about him that I hadn't seen in a long time. It was kind of refreshing.

"Do you want to go drag him away or should I?" a voice asks, and I turn to see Dad, who's moved to be by my side. "We have one or two more stops to make."

I shake my head and approach my ex-boyfriend, taking his sleeve and dragging him – gently, taking him injuries into mind – until he decides to move under his own power.

Dad leads us back out into the main hallways, explaining as we went, "The bathroom's right there-" pointing to the last door on the right, "-and it connects to the pool as well."

We end up back in the living room, and it seems like that might be the last stop of the tour, until Dad perks up again.

"Oh! I almost forgot! One more room!" He walks over to the wall of windows, pushing on the third one from the right and revealing it to be a swinging door, not a window. He steps out onto a terrace that I had somehow not noticed before, waving for us to follow.

The terrace/balcony was a rough semicircle shape, spanning the entire front of the building and giving an amazing view of both the lit-up city below us and the suit landing pad and jet launching pad, a little more than 300 feet above us.

I could've stayed longer, but Dad was quickly herding us back inside and it was, after all, January in New York.

"Did you like it?" Dad asks anxiously once we're back inside.

"I loved it," I tell him, Clint chorusing the sentiment, "but why'd you do it?"

"Because I figured you two needed a place away from everything and everyone, a place that was just…yours," he shrugs sheepishly. "And it really is just yours," he adds. "There is only one way to access this floor, and that's using a special pass-card, and there's only two pass-cards: right here."

He hands us each a thin black card, plain except for the text 'CR-67' stamped across the top in big white letters.

"You two are the only ones that can access this floor; the security system here in completely unbreakable," Dad explains. "I figured you needed the privacy. And speaking of privacy…I'm gonna leave you two now," he finishes in a rush, quickly exiting the room via the elevator.

Leaving just me and Clint…again.

My ex sighs behind me. "Taylor…we need to talk."

I slowly turn to face him, absently fingering the card in my hands. Suddenly the very coz feel the living room had previously had felt hot and prickly.

"Yeah," I agree softly. "We do."


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks to candydrum, Csilla (Guest), TheGirlOfTooManyFandoms, and thewriterstory for reviewing the last chapter.**

 **I really hope I did the conversation justice here. I don't think I did, but you're always hardest on yourself. Hope you like it.**

* * *

 _ **Days since the Battle of San Francisco: 13 (late night)**_

* * *

Being completely aware that Clint was watching my every move, I move to the elevator and jab the button.

Nothing happens.

"That eager to get rid of me, are you?" Clint asks behind me.

"That's not it and you know it," I snap, turning sharply to face him. "I guess Bucky was right."

"Bucky?"

"He threatened to lock us in a room and wait till we make up or kill each other. His words, not mine," I hasten to add at the look on his face. "What do you want to bet this was partially his idea?"

"His and Natasha's." he adds. "She's been pestering me to hunt you down since I woke up."

I give a slightly bitter laugh. "Well, points for determination, then."

He gives me a half smile and motions to our surroundings. "But Tony's too. I mean, he built us a floor, for god's sake!"

I laugh again, this one truer than the last. "And when have you ever known my family to do anything by halves?"

He gives me a true smile – one rarely seen by others, especially lately – and my stomach does a series of cartwheels. "True," he admits softly. "Like self-guilt, for instance."

I purse my lips as the atmosphere in the room changes faster than you can say 'tension'. "Yeah."

He gives a knowing nod before glancing at the terrace. "Come on, let's get some air."

"It's mid-winter in New York," I remind him. "You're practically begging for frostbite."

"Aw, thanks for caring," he drawls, holding the door open for me and ushering me through.

There's a small bistro-style table on the terrace that we take a seat at, and I absently watch my breath puff in front of my face as I gather up the courage to speak. "I do care, you know."

"I know that," he admits. "Although you have a bad way of showing it."

"That's an understatement," I huff, avoiding looking at him and instead the dark cityscape in front of us. "I didn't visit...I'm sorry."

"Well," he gives a breathy chuckle, "that would _technically_ be a lie."

"It would," I agree. "Because I visited once, but it was like 2 am and you were - you weren't sleeping, were you?" I glance over at him to see his grey eyes glinting with a mischievous humor. I glare at him. "Give a girl a little warning."

"And where's the fun it that?" he asks with a laugh before sobering again. "You thought I wanted to break up with you?"

I nod.

" _Why_ on _earth_ would you think that?!" he asks incredulously, looking at me like I'd grown another head.

I throw my head back and give a sharp, caustic laugh. "I can give you a million reasons."

"I punched you in the face hard enough to break your nose," I offer. "I then avoided you for over a week while you were recovering from three major gunshot wounds. I shot your best friend, crashed two of your jets, and I was prepared to shoot you if it had come to that. And I left you in the first place."

"Are we gonna turn this into a game of 'who has the worst track record'?" He raises an eyebrow. "Because I didn't try and contact you at all, nor did I stop any of the kidnapping attempts or rallies, even though I didn't agree with them."

I shrug. "So the rallies with death threat signs…"

"Weren't supported by any of us." He shakes his head. "We couldn't control what signs people brought."

I tilt my head slightly, conceding his point. "Back on topic, though, I can think of more reasons why you would want to break up with me. I'm self-destructive, stuck-up, and I have the shortest fuse in the world."

"You know, it almost sounds like you _want_ us to break up," he comments, giving me a fearful look. "You don't, right?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Okay, good," he says with a relieved sigh. "Because…that would hurt for me too, y'know. But back to what you said."

"You're not self-destructive," he argues. "No, listen. You're a genius, which means that you _know_ it's in your best interest to stay alive, and therefore you can't be self-destructive."

I side-eye him. "You sound like you've given that a bit of thought."

He shrugs. "It's one of your favorite arguments when you get moody like this. I know you."

 _I know you._

 _Yes,_ I silently agree, _I suppose you do. At least that's true._ "And the others?"

"You're not stuck-up, really, just proud," he continues. "And to be fair, you deserve to be proud of yourself. You're not even twenty yet, and you've managed to graduate high school _and_ college, not to mention become a world-renowned superhero and supreme engineer. Not to mention I've seen you down more hot dogs than should be anatomically possible," he finishes with a grin.

I tip my head back and laugh like I haven't in long time, till my sides are sore and there are tears streaming down my face and becoming half-frozen on my cheeks. "You…sure know how…to pick 'em, don't you?"

"Well I'd think that'd be obvious," he reasons. "I snagged you."

"Me and Bobbi Morse," I amend. "And _she_ …is a _suka_."

"No argument here," he laughs. "Why do you think I broke up with her?"

"Something bad," I frown. "Like a war split us up."

"Did it?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Where have _you_ been the past month and a half?"

"No, I'm not saying there wasn't a war," he denies, "because there definitely was. But did it split us up?"

I give a half shrug. "I assume so – I left, you stayed. You were here and I was somewhere in Rhode Island."

"Long distance relationships aren't that hard," he argues.

"Yes, but this was _war_. I'm not big on being the Juliet to your Romeo," I counter. "No. They both died."

Clint turns to look at me fully, and I can almost see a lightbulb go on above his head. "Were you protecting me?"

I blink at him. "I – maybe?" I pause to consider that.

If either the Legion or the Avengers had found out that we had been communicating, I have no doubt that Dad, at least, could trace the messages back almost instantaneously.

And _that_ could have-

"Hey."

I open my eyes and instinctively reel back as I discover Clint's face mere inches from mine, then berating myself for jumping, which I wouldn't have done two months ago.

"Sorry," Clint chuckles as he retreats to his side of the table. "You were zoned out there for a moment."

I shrug and grin, feeling heat creep up my neck. "Thanks."

"What were you thinking about?" he asks softly.

"The war," I admit simply.

"That's over now," he reminds me. "W-What n-now?"

Catching the slight tremor to his words, I turn to give him a calculating look. "You okay?"

"F-fine."

I frown and reach over to lay a hand on his arm, ignoring the way my single tingles at the points of contact. "No, you're freezing, that's what you are. Can we go inside?"

"Taylor, I-"

"You _are not fine_." I stand and narrow my eyes at him. "You're still recovering from three bullet wounds, unless you've forgotten. And it's about 30-something degrees out here. Come on."

"And what'll you do then – ground me?" he asks cheekily, and I roll my eyes and huff out a breath through my nose, the foggy air giving me the image of a demon or an irate Natasha.

" _No_ , but I will tie you to the couch and drug your hot chocolate with sleeping pills," I threaten.

His eyes widen comically. "You _wouldn't._ "

I just raise an eyebrow and step back, gesturing towards the door wordlessly.

"Fine," he huffs shakily and I watch him hobble back into the living room and plop down on the couch. "Happy?"

"Drama queen," I mutter as I follow him in, crossing the living room and shoving the two-way door to the kitchen open and begin to rummage for the ingredients for hot cocoa.

"Do you want to put in a movie?" Clint calls from the other room as I put a saucepan on the stove and turn on the heat.

"Sure," I reply absently, focused on pouring the right amount of milk into the pan.

"Preference?"

"Mm, jus explosions," I request.

"Because that _totally_ narrows it down," he calls. "Real helpful."

"Glad I could be of service," I call over the clatter of metal against metal as I dig out a tray for the mugs. I return to the stove and finish making the cocoa, pouring it into two mugs before pausing. "Clint?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you – do you still like your hot chocolate the same way?" _the same way you did before all this?_

"That hasn't changed," he reassures me after a short moment. _Not everything has changed._

I nod with a small smile as I grab the maple syrup and coffee creamer, adding a splash of both before doing my own mug and loading both on the tray and making my way back out to the living room.

Clint's wrapped up in a light blue blanket and stretched out on the long section of the couch, looking cozy but tired. He looks up as I set the tray down on the coffee table and hand him his mug before sitting down next to him and sliding off my shoes. "What're we watching?"

"Something called _Spy._ It's got Melissa McCarthy and revenge plots. I figured there'd be explosions," he explains around the rim of his mug. "You still make hot chocolate like you used to."

"Thank you." I lean back into the couch. "Play it, please."

About half an hour into the film, I slide closer so that I'm pressed up against Clint's side, minding his bandages.

"If anyone asks, I'm helping warm you up."

"Sure," he grins. "Whatever you say."

And half an hour after that, his eyelids begin to droop and I move into a more comfortable position on the nearest armchair.

"Taylor?"

"I'm just moving to a more comfortable sleeping position," I explain. "We're gonna be here a while. Unless you want to face society today?"

"No…no," he decides. "Let's stay up here."

"Thought so," I nod. "Hey..."

"Yeah?" he glances up at me.

"What are – what is – are we…?"

"What are we, what is this, are we dating?" he guesses, and I nod shyly. "Trying again, I don't know yet, and I'd really like your opinion on that."

I tilt my head back to consider that. "Would you want to try again? I mean, we can't start _all_ the way over, because too much has happened. But we can't pick up exactly where we left off again."

"Right," he nods. "I'd like to date you properly this time, without the kidnapping, if you don't mind?"

"Not at all," I deadpan. "Just…don't _court_ me, please. I am not a ball."

"Deal. Can I _woo_ you?" he asks with a smirk.

"Do it and see how far you get," I threaten, unable to keep the smile off my face at the familiarity of it all.

"Okay," he nods. "Hey Taylor?"

"Hm?"

"Would you be my girlfriend?" he asks quietly, uncertainty dancing in his eyes. "Again, I mean?"

"I don't think I ever truly stopped," I admit, leaning forward to press a kiss to his temple.

Except he turns his head at the last minute, and I catch his lips instead.

As clichéd as it sounds, I'm suddenly flashing back to almost a year and a half ago, on the Tower roof under a summer sky to our first dance.

He was perfect (for me, anyways) then.

That hasn't changed, despite everything that has. So why did I let him go?

 _You loved him_ , a small voice – probably my conscience – whispers. _And you were afraid._

"I'm sorry," I whisper after we've pulled back. "I love you."

"I'm sorry too," he murmurs, pressing a feather-light kiss to my forehead. "And I never stopped loving you, to be honest."

I smile and reach over to link our fingers. "I know. Me neither."

He smiles and eventually we both start to nod off, the TV shutting off around the time the lights dim.

He drops off before I do, and I listen to his breathing even out, the steady rhythm lulling me to sleep as well.

The last thing my eyes catch is our intertwined hands.

"We're trying again," Clint had said.

Yes. We were.

Couples don't break up just because they fight – I heard that somewhere a few years ago. And neither, I'd like to add, do teams.

Not teams like this one.

We'd be okay – eventually. It would take time, but I knew instant gratification wasn't going to work here. It rarely did.

So yeah, it wouldn't happen right away, but in the end, we'd be able to piece 'normal' back together.

And that was all that mattered for now.


End file.
